


a more perfect life

by la_topolina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Good Severus Snape, Humor, Major Original Character(s), POV Severus Snape, Past Domestic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Severus Snape Needs a Hug, Sexual Content, Slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23661652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_topolina/pseuds/la_topolina
Summary: On the way to the Hogs Head in 1980, Severus's fate is interrupted by a letter from Lily that changes everything--for the better.An everyone lives! (well, except for Voldemort) AU featuring one snarky potions master, several marauders, and an enchanting American witch.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Regulus Black/Peter Pettigrew, Severus Snape/Miranda Rose, Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	1. the olive branch

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU inspired by Severus's imaginings in Chapter 11 of my novel, [Moonlight:](https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/18431546/chapters/43659938)
> 
> _Sometimes Severus would let his thoughts roam, creating fantasies of a more perfect life. A life where he had avoided all of the many mistakes he had made. In his younger days, he would imagine that Lily had forgiven him his callous words, and that he had won her long before she'd married James, or he had made the desperate choice to join the Dark Lord's circle. Since he had met Miranda, the fantasy had mutated into one where he had never heard that blasted prophesy in the first place. Lily had her perfect little family and they had all grudgingly reconciled. Severus dreamed of having met Miranda the first time she had been in England. She would have swept him up in her madness again and, because this was a dream, the Dark Lord would be dead and buried. Severus felt that Lily and Miranda would have liked each other. And Miranda would have hated James with him, and he would have quit teaching and joined her in her ridiculous bounty hunting business, and….._

6 December 1980

The act of fastening rows of buttons never failed to sooth Severus’s nerves. Placed at regular intervals down the front of his frock coat and the forearms of his sleeves, he wore their martial regularity like a Shield Charm, protecting his interior castle from the ravages of the world at large. His elegant fingers took particular care this evening as they flew down the sleeve of his left forearm. An hour from now he would be meeting one of the greatest wizards alive, and he did not wish for Albus Dumbledore to divine his allegiance to the _other_ greatest wizard alive by being so careless as to leave the dark brand wantonly exposed. 

While the two years since he’d had that mark painfully imprinted on his pale skin had worn away his misplaced zeal for “The Cause” as the Dark Lord termed it, he was not so much of a fool to imagine that he could abandon his allegiance now. However distasteful the War had become to him; however little he liked the seemingly endless stream of murder and destruction, what else was he to do? He was alone, friendless, unconnected—save for the connections he’d made within the web of the Dark Lord’s favorites. Connections that would be all to happy to snuff out his life if he gave so much as the ghost of an indication that he felt he had, perhaps, joined the wrong side.

He came lightly down the stairs, muffling his footsteps the best he could after of years of habit, even though he now owned Spinner’s End free and clear. His worthless father and his faded mother had vacated upon his graduation from Hogwarts, leaving him in peace. Not that he could find much peace in this house of broken dreams—especially knowing that he was helpless to remove his mother from his father’s sphere. The rain pounded on the windows, and the wind outside made a melancholy moan; the perfect sort of music to enhance his sorry ruminations. It was the type of weather fit for sitting indoors before a fire with tea and a stack of novels; but he threw his cloak around his shoulders, charmed it the best he could against the elements, and opened the door to the gale beyond.

The postman stood on his doorstep, buttoned up to his eyebrows, fist poised to rap on the door. The fellow mumbled something that Severus could not quite make out, and thrust a thick envelope into his hand. Although it was a Muggle letter, the writing on the outside set Severus’s hand trembling in recognition. He shut the door and leaned his shoulder hard against the battered frame, opening the letter as carefully as his shaking hands would allow.

_Dear Sev,_

_It’s been a long time. Too long a time. But I hope it hasn’t been so long that you will refuse to read this letter, if only for the friendship we once had. I know that a lot has passed between you, James, and me, and that most of that has been unkind._

_I was angry with you for a long time, but after Harry was born, all I felt was sad. You were my best friend, and while I was holding my little son, I found myself wondering over and over, how did things go so wrong between us?_

_I wish that I had forgiven you the day that you asked for it. I wasn’t ready then, but I’ve forgiven you long since. I ask you now, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?_

_If there’s even a chance that you’d consider it, would you do me the honor of joining James, Harry, and me for dinner at our home next Thursday at 6? There’s a lot that we’d like to say to you, and I’d really like for you to meet Harry. Life’s too short to be angry forever. Please try to come. I miss you._

_Love,_   
_Lily_

If the letter in his hand had hit him with a _Confundus_ , Severus could not have been more stunned. His appointment with Albus was a dim memory, and he started pacing erratically through his sitting room to his desk; jotting half a line in reply, scratching it out, crumpling the paper and starting anew. Some twenty minutes passed before he was able to compose a reply with any coherence, and when he set out into the rain, it was towards the post office, rather than to Hogsmeade. If he hurried, he might catch the evening postal run, and he could Apparate to the Hogs Head just in time for his other, now much less important, appointment. His return letter was a far cry from a work of literature, but it was the best he could muster after receiving such a welcome shock as an olive branch from the friend he’d thought lost forever.

_Dear Lily,_

_I accept your invitation._

_Sincerely,_   
_Sev_

He could not sign his love, not now, not yet. But in the deepest part of his hidden heart, he began to hope that he was not quite so alone as he had thought.

*****

16 June 1990

On a Saturday afternoon in mid-June, Severus was enjoying the peace of Magog park, and the idyllic early summer weather. He had commandeered a spot on a comfortable bench, shaded by a stately alder tree; and this together with the pleasant view of the footbridge over the fish pond, and the Dostoevsky novel on his knee, was coalescing into a perfect afternoon.

Ironically, it was the quiet of the park that drew his attention to the fact that his charges were in some sort of trouble. The bird calls and the distant Muggle traffic were no longer being drowned out by the rowdy play of three young boys, and Severus glanced up to see that Lily’s offspring were nowhere in sight. With an irritated sigh he snapped his book closed, rising from the bench in order to take in more of the landscape. He had told them specifically that they were _not_ to go wandering away from him, and he had employed small, precise words to convey the message. But he should have known better than to trust the fiends—they were James’s sons, after all.

There had been no splashing to indicate that the ruffians had fallen into the pond, so he did not waste time looking there. The ice cream vendor had been curiously spared from attack by the wayward band, and the play park was free from any savage adventurers. Lily had only excused herself to the loo five minutes prior to the hellions’ escape, hardly time for the brutes to have vacated the park altogether. He strode up the northward path as quickly as he could manage while maintaining optimal surveillance of the grounds, his patience wearing thin indeed. Lily was bound to give him an earful if she returned to find her brood gone astray. Fortunately for him, his friend was once again comically pregnant, and her trips to the loo were as numerous as they were lengthy.

As he gained the top of the hill leading towards the wilderness, he caught sight of the trio careening to and fro over the green. They were tossing a bright red quaffle back and forth, and paying no attention whatsoever to anything around them. The melee was quickly progressing towards a female reclining on a picnic blanket near the edge of the neatly trimmed flower beds, and although Severus could see the disaster approaching, he could not risk Apparating in order to prevent it. Magog park’s proximity to Diagon Alley ensured a steady stream of magical patrons, but for all he knew the soon-to-be victim of Potters’ spawn was a hapless Muggle. 

He managed to reach shouting distance (not that he would stoop to shouting—he’d found whispering to be more awe-inspiring to the little brats) when Harry hurled the quaffle violently at Thomas, who staggered into William, sending both of the lads toppling head over heels right into the the picnicking woman. She gave a yelp amidst the boys’ shrieks of laughter, and Severus groaned as he dashed to do damage control.

“Are you alright?” the woman asked her assailants as she disentangled herself from the pile of bodies and helped the boys right themselves.

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Thomas, his face flushing as red as his hair. He was the most like Lily in color and temperament, and always the first to repent of whatever mischief he’d fallen into.

“I believe the three of you owe this young lady an apology,” Severus said in a stern tone that caused Harry to finally stop laughing, and Thomas and little William to tremble. “And I seem to recall that I told you to stay where I could see you.”

The woman in question was currently on all fours, retrieving the quaffle from the hydrangea bush it had rolled into, which afforded Severus an unexpectedly favorable view of her shapely backside.

“No harm done,” she said, pulling the dratted ball free and rising from the ground with the grace of a dancer. She turned lightly on her bare feet, her cheeks becomingly pink, her silver hair tousled around her shoulders. Her gray eyes held his for a moment, and he forgot to draw breath while he pondered if they were more akin to quicksilver, or to the sky after a storm. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” the boys chorused.

Before he could come to any worthy conclusion, she turned those shining eyes to the boys and tossed the quaffle back to Harry, saying with a charming wink, “I’ve been used as a Quidditch hoop before.”

“Quidditch…” Harry said, exchanging an excited look with his brothers. “That means you’re…”

“A witch, yes,” she said, laying a finger over her expressive lips. “But hush! We should probably be quiet about that here. What are your names?”

Harry put himself forward, ran a hand through his untamable black hair, and said proudly, “I’m Harry Potter, and these are my brothers Thomas and William.”

Harry indicated his brothers in turn, first careful Thomas, and then young William who was both Harry’s faithful shadow and doppelgänger in miniature. The woman gravely shook hands with each boy, and Severus had further opportunity to admire her elegant form. 

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Miranda Rose.” When she turned her laughing eyes back to Severus, he once again forgot how to breathe. “And you are?”

He somehow managed to take the hand she extended and reply, “Severus Snape,” without tripping over any of the syllables with his suddenly ungainly tongue.

“Severus Snape?” she repeated, and he was greedy to hear his name spoken again in her lilting accent. “That sounds familiar. Wait, you’re not _Professor_ Severus Snape are you?”

“The same.” Merlin, his ears were turning red, and at this rate his cheeks would not be far behind. Perhaps he could blame it on the heat of the afternoon.

“I’m delighted to meet you. I loved that piece you wrote about antivenins in the _Potions Journal_.”

“You read the _Potions Journal_?” _Brilliant, Severus. Bloody brilliant_. But then, how was he supposed to think of anything clever to say when her hand was still in his, and the feel of it was sending a scorch of awareness coursing through the whole of his body?

“I do. But I must confess that I only read the parts that relate to my work. I’m a utilitarian potioneer—not an artist, like yourself.”

“You talk funny, Miss Rose,” blurted William, apparently tired of all the adult conversation going on over his head.

“William!” Severus admonished.

“It’s fine, really,” Miranda laughed. “I suppose I talk funny because I’m from America.”

“America?” Thomas repeated, greatly impressed.

“Where do wizards go to school in America?” Harry demanded.

“At Ilvermorny. It’s a lovely castle in a mountain, and not terribly far from the ocean.”

“I bet it’s not as good as Hogwarts,” Harry said matter-of-factly. “I’ll be going there next year when I’m eleven. I’m almost ten now.”

“I imagine it’s just different,” Miranda replied. She slowly withdrew her hand from Severus’s, and he regretted the loss as a morning glory regrets the passing of the day. “You have a fine set of sons, Professor.”

He wasn’t sure if he was more taken aback by her belief that Potter’s progeny belonged to him, or the note of disappointment that colored her voice when she complimented him on the lot.

“Er, they aren’t mine,” he said quickly. “That is to say, Thomas is my godson, but I am not a father in any other sense of the word.”

“I see,” she said, her tone turning playful. “But surely you and your wife will be so blessed in the near future.”

“Uncle Sev’s not married!” Harry cried, and the boys laughed as though this idea were the funniest joke they’d ever heard.

“No?” Miranda asked, glancing at him through her lashes in a way that made his heart stumble for a pace or two.

“No,” Severus replied tersely. Perfect. Now his cheeks were certainly red.

“What useful information to have.”

Her casual flirtation (she _was_ flirting with him—wasn’t she?) rendered him speechless, for while his brain was whirling in a fury of agitation, he could not seem to harness any of its frantic energy to the task of creating intelligible sentences. Rather than fight a battle already lost, he covered his lack of suavity with action, and stooped to tidy the mess that the boys had made of Miss Rose’s luncheon. Strawberries lay scattered like skittles across the fine linen blanket, and he set down his novel amidst the somewhat squashed bread and cheese to better impose order on the mess. William took this as an invitation to help himself to a snack, plopping down in the middle of the blanket and stuffing strawberries in his mouth before Severus could stop him.

“William,” Severus sighed.

“I was finished, anyway,” Miranda reassured him, reclaiming her spot on the blanket. “I’d rather they didn’t go to waste.”

“Sev? Harry?” called Lily breathlessly as she shuffled into view.

“We’re over here, Mum!” answered Harry, waving madly. 

He and Thomas tore off towards their mother, leaving the quaffle forgotten on the grass. William snatched a final strawberry before toddling after his brothers, and Severus found himself suddenly alone with his new acquaintance. He cleared his throat and awkwardly grasped for some thread of conversation, finally noticing that there was another book on the ground beside his own. Curiously, he retrieved Miss Rose’s entertainment, allowing himself half a smile when he realized that she had a penchant for Dostoevsky also.

“Which brother do you fancy?” he asked, his tongue unsticking at last.

She arched an elegant eyebrow at him. “That’s a good question. Dostoevsky spends so much time trying to convince me to like Alexey best that I have to rebel against it and accuse him of being tedious.”

“Tedious? I would call him virtuous instead.”

“Of course he is! Unfortunately he has a healthy does of tedium to go with the virtue; and since this is literature, tedium is a mortal sin, I’m afraid.”

“Touché. Very well, if not the best of the brothers, who? Dmitri?”

Her eyes sparkled in the afternoon light. “Now you _are_ teasing me. Dmitri is a thug. A decent thug, but a thug. Or do you think that all Americans are so stupid that we’d take brawn over brains?”

He was beginning to catch the rhythm of their verbal repartee. “It is true that the American reputation for…shall we say a lack of subtlety precedes you. Fortunately I possess enough intellectual curiosity that I am willing to reexamine the stereotype on a case by case basis.”

“I hope you aren’t studying _too_ many cases at the moment,” she said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “I’d hate for your curiosity to become fatigued by the exercise.”

Merlin help him, he was blushing like a schoolboy. “I tend to find exercise invigorating rather than fatiguing.”

She rewarded him with a dazzling smile and a blush of her own. “To answer your question, Ivan is my favorite. He’s sensitive and cynical, and far too clever for his own good.”

A small hurricane in the form of Lily surrounded by her pack overshadowed them, and they sprang up to meet the storm.

“Sev, you scared me half to death,” Lily chided gently. “What happened?”

“The boys thought it a good use of their time go on an expedition in search of a new adult to pester,” Severus replied wryly. 

“And it looks like they found one. Hello, I’m Lily Potter.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Miranda Rose,” Miranda said, taking the hand that Lily extended. “And your boys are delightful.”

“I’m glad to hear they fooled you. I think they were saying you’re from America?”

“I am. I’m here on business, but I’ve thankfully had time to enjoy myself too. It’s a lovely country. Would you like to sit down?”

Lily made a face. “Thank you, but I’d better not. If I get all the way down it’ll take me hours to get back up.”

“My sister-in-law Anna is expecting too. Summer pregnancies are the worst, or so I hear.”

“You hear right,” Lily laughed. “I think they make the last month of pregnancy unbearable because otherwise nobody would be willing to go through the labor at the end of it. What line of work are you in?”

“I’m a bounty hunter.”

Severus and Lily exchanged a look that wordlessly confirmed their surprise at this revelation; and Severus judged by Miranda’s expression that the American witch both expected—and enjoyed—this sort of reaction from her audience.

“Wow,” Lily said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a bounty hunter before.”

“It’s a family business. What about you?”

“Oh, I have my hands full with the boys and helping my husband James with his philanthropic work. Sev here’s a professor, but none of us do anything nearly as exciting as bounty hunting.”

“I don’t know. Potion brewing can have its exciting turns.”

Miranda was running her eyes over Severus in such a way that could only be described as appreciative. Lily was kind enough to cover her surprised laughter with a cough, and Severus felt certain that his ears and cheeks were now permanently red.

“I agree,” Lily said, barely able to keep her voice steady. She frowned down at the handsome watch on her wrist and added, “I’m afraid we’re going to have to be going though.”

“Already?” moaned Harry.

“Can’t we stay a little longer?” Thomas pleaded.

William’s lower lip started to tremble, but Lily was immune to the boys’ theatrics.

“Yes, already. You want to be home to meet Dad when he gets there, don’t you?”

The mention of James’s imminent return set the boys once again to excited shouting. They grabbed hold of their mother’s skirts and began tugging her towards the secluded edge of the park that they most often used for Apparating, calling their goodbyes to Miss Rose and yammering on and on about all the games they would play when father came home.

“It was nice to meet you!” Lily called as the boys dragged her away.

“Likewise!” Miranda returned.

Flustered by finding himself suddenly alone with the lovely stranger, Severus muttered a clumsy _adieu_ and hurried after Lily, cursing himself for an idiot all the while.

“What are you doing Sev?” Lily hissed, ignoring the racket her children were creating.

“I’m helping you take the boys home, obviously,” he replied testily.

“Never mind that, did you ask her out?”

“I…no…”

“Then get back there and do it!”

Severus’s embarrassment was quickly devouring his patience. “I have no desire to foist myself on her. A woman should be able to spend the afternoon in a public park without being subject to unwanted advances.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Sure, but in case you didn’t notice, _that_ woman was obviously inviting _your_ advances.”

He resolutely did _not_ look back at the woman they were debating. 

“Sev, if you don’t ask her out, I will,” Lily persisted.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” 

The Gryffindor fire was flashing in Lily’s eyes when the American in question caught up with them.

“Excuse me, professor,” Miranda said, holding out a leather bound volume. “You forgot your book.”

“Ah. Thank you.” He scrambled to put more words together, but something about this woman’s presence seemed to rob him of his wits, especially since her fingers had brushed his as he’d retrieved his property.

Lily was suffering from no such malady. “There’s a group of us going to The Mortal Coil over in Fine Alley tomorrow night. We’d love it if you’d join us, wouldn’t we Sev?”

Severus groaned inwardly at Lily’s machinations, but said, “Of course we would. But being as you are here on business I wouldn’t presume that you have time for such frivolities.”

“I always have time for such frivolities,” Miranda replied easily.

“Brilliant,” Lily said triumphantly. “How’s seven?”

“I’ll be there. Nice to meet you Lily. Severus. Boys.” 

Miranda saluted the children and sauntered back to the remnants of her picnic. Severus didn’t realize he was staring until Lily gave him a jab in the ribs with her elbow.

“See? Told ya,” Lily said.

“So you did. But I wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Perhaps she simply wants to avail herself to the city’s entertainments.”

“Sure, and Remus only eats chocolate for the calories. You’d better be there my friend--no last minute potion experiment excuses--or I’ll come drag you out of your lab by your ears.”

“Salazar defend us. I said I would be there, and I will.”

It wasn’t until later that evening, when Severus was reading over his last cup of tea, that he noticed that Miss Rose had accidentally swapped his copy of _The Brothers Karamazov_ for hers. Like him, she had glossed the text with questions and observations in the margins. Her script was beautiful though, while his was cramped and spidery; and it was all too easy to fall into reading her thoughts on the Russian masterpiece.

_Say this for Ivan, he certainly gives the devil his due…_

The experience was oddly intimate, and he found himself closing the book lest he violate her privacy further. But a foolish hope was fighting its way to life in his heart; and although he tried to impede its growth, all his melancholy anticipation could not smother the spark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to Maria/tatapb; Melanie/RonsGirlFriday; and Jane/Bunbury for encouraging me to...er...run with this little idea. I don't know about y'all but I could use some fluff right about now.


	2. ships in the night

17 June 1990

While Severus was known to shirk his social duties from time to time, when he did take the trouble of going out, he was invariably early. The Mortal Coil, known for its house-brewed ale, its spiced beef sandwich (both secret recipes), and its uncanny ability to command the best musical talent in the Wizarding World despite its shabby interior, was the Marauders’ home away from home. Severus would have preferred his first evening engagement with the beguiling Miss Rose to occur in a place that smelled a little less of sour beer, and whose walls were not papered over with yellowed pages from the Daily Prophet (the photographs sagging with age and secondhand smoke inhalation) but, as so often happened to him, he had not been given a choice in the matter.

The elven sprig of a waitress, Genevieve, gave him an ironic salute as he passed by her rickety stool at the door. The mischievous Gryffindor was old enough to have had the pleasure of being both one of his fellow students—and one of his pupils. She’d made his life hell; and her superior marks on her OWLs had ensured that she gained both his animosity—and his grudging respect. All this had boiled away in the years since her graduation (and what a joyous day that had been!) into a fond sort of needling whenever he frequented her uncle’s establishment in this scrappy little corner of Fine Alley.

“Left your coffin before sunset. Aren’t you worried about crumbling to dust?” Genevieve asked as she flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder and straightened her leather skirt.

“If it would save me from the inanity of your company, I would welcome the occurrence,” he replied.

“I knew you missed me. How many tonight?”

“Nine that I know of.”

She led him through a maze of incongruous tables, all crammed together to make space for an impromptu dance floor. When they reached the back of the room, she flicked her wand at three of the tables, which stuck themselves together (although their uneven height created distasteful bumps along the top). Fifteen chairs came marching and assembled around, leaning on the table like underage pub patrons attempting to look “cool.” Another flick brought water glasses and pints of the evening’s special, and a third produced plates and a basket of sandwiches, kept piping hot under a warming charm.

“Puck’s Own is playing tonight. You’re in for a treat,” she taunted. “I’ll be back when the rest of them get here.”

He shuddered inwardly. Puck’s Own was _not_ known for their discerning musical taste. “Thank you, Genevieve.”

With a mocking wink, the jaunty waitress swept off to see to other customers, and Severus took the liberty of claiming the chair in the back corner. The years fighting on both sides of the Great War had left him with a overactive nervous system that liked to go off at everyday provocations. From here, he could see the whole of the pub, from back door to front; and claiming the metaphorical high ground helped him to (albeit marginally) relax. Puck’s Own came crashing in through the alley entrance, laughing and shouting with their ripped clothing, spiked hair (in colors never before seen in nature), and instruments that were an unholy alliance of dark magic and Muggle electronics. Within seconds the pub was full of a racket that brought to mind cats in heat, signaling that the band was “tuning up” in preparation of making “music” for the “delight” of the pub’s patrons. Perfect.

Severus took a bracing drink of the ale (hops laced with gooseberries tonight) and gave vent to his nerves by pulling Miss Rose’s book out of his pocket and restlessly flipping through the pages. He read nothing—but the sight of her florid script brought a smile to his lips in anticipation of knowing her further. Perhaps tonight would not be a waste of time after all.

“Leave it to you to read in a pub,” said James Potter, cutting through Severus’s reflections with a sharp comment and a not-quite-sincere smile.

“At least he came,” countered Lily. She was leaning on James’s arm, her face flushed with the rosy glow of pregnancy, and Severus stood to give her a kiss on the cheek and to shake James’s hand. “You must have believed my threat.”

“I know when to take you seriously,” Severus replied. “How does the fundraiser go, James?”

“Not bad. Malfoy’s being a wanker, like always. He says he wants to go over the plan with you, so you can break it down for him in little, pureblood codewords.” James said, pulling out a chair for Lily and claiming one on the other side of hers. He hated asking Severus for help as much as Severus hated being helpful.

“I suppose I could make an attempt. I’m to dine with Lucius and Narcissa next week.”

“I wish we could leave him out of the whole bloody business, but you know how small our world is. And if Malfoy wants his name on something, it’s going to be on something.”

“Especially if you want his money,” Severus observed.

James scoffed. “I think we could do without his money, but the rest of the board disagrees with me.”

“Not all of us are in a position to be so selective.” It was a tired argument, and Severus was weary of having it. “If Malfoy wishes to buy social credit by funding your projects for Muggleborns and Muggle Relations, I should think it is worth shaking his hand from time to time.”

“If only I could be sure he isn’t going to hex me while I do it.”

“He’s so cold,” Lily said. “He still gives me the creeps. And that wife of his; does she ever smile?”

“I’ve always found Narcissa to be a pleasant woman,” Severus said irritably.

“Speaking of pleasant women, did you have to do yourself up like an undertaker tonight, Sev?” Lily teased.

“Sev only has one set of clothing, Lils, you know that,” James laughed.

“Don’t look now, the party’s just got here,” said Sirius Black, arriving with his brother Regulus in tow.

“Good to see you came out this time Sev,” said Regulus.

“He had to,” James informed the room. “he’s got a _date_.”

“No shit?” Sirius said, flipping a chair around in order to straddle it like an adolescent Muggle movie actor. “She a vampire too?”

“Fuck, I hope so. She’s some American bird Sev picked up in the park.”

“It’s not a date, and I did not pick her up,” Severus protested. Perhaps this had been a bad idea after all.

“You’re right, Lils asked her for you,” James said.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d know what to do with a girl if she walked up and bit you,” Sirius observed, claiming a pint and lighting a cigarette.

“This one almost did,” Lily said with a wink.

“You dog,” Sirius said, punching Severus none too gently in the arm.

Severus was saved from further roasting by the arrival of the melancholy Remus Lupin, the brassy Marlene McKinnon, and half a dozen more of their cohort. The band launched into its first obnoxious set (screaming was too kind a term for it) and there followed a dizzying tumult of shouted orders for food and drink, lewd observations, and the final descent into madness on the dance floor. Regulus snagged Lily's chair when James and Lily went to folic as long as her swollen ankles would allow, and Severus was glad to have some distraction from both the chaos of the room and the fact that the silver-haired American had yet to appear.

“Are you going to Lucius and Cissy’s on Thursday?” asked Regulus as he made use of the extra elbowroom at the mostly abandoned table in order to more freely partake of the day’s fare.

“Yes,” Severus replied. “I take it you will be there as well?”

“If mother doesn’t take another bad turn. She’s been up and down with the Pop-a-Shocks. One hour she’s as healthy as she ever was, and the next she’s appearing and disppearing all over the house. It’s a right nuisance. Narcissa’s with her now, but she can’t very well sit with her if she’s hosting a dinner at the same time.”

“Can’t Sirius keep watch for one evening?”

Both men laughed humorlessly at the idea of Sirius nursemaiding Walburga Black.

“Yes. I’m sure he’d love to play gobstones with her and trade stories about the War.”

Like Severus, Regulus had spent time in both camps, and he was one of the few people who understood the mixture of guilt, anger, frustration and shame that went along with the singularity. They also both knew the burdens of looking after mothers who were still in their prime; but whom life had brought frighteningly to their knees. But Regulus should have had the support of his elder brother in this last duty, and it didn’t sit well with Severus that he was left to bear it alone.

Sirius and Marlene fell into chairs next them, and Lily and James weren’t far behind. Regulus quickly relinquished Lily’s chair, and she gave him a grateful smile as she caught her breath. Marlene took further advantage of Regulus’s gentlemanly behavior to claim him for her partner, and the two of them disappeared into the now overly crowded room. 

“Looks like you got stood up,” Sirius observed after downing half a pint in one go. “Tough break, Sev.”

“Don’t say that!” Lily protested. “It’s early yet.”

“I bet you five galleons she doesn’t show.”

“No way. You still owe me from last time. Remember Liverpool?”

“Not likely. And you cheated!”

“You are the sorest loser on the face of the earth, Sirius Orion Black.”

“But at least I’m good looking.” Sirius finished off his pint and lit another cigarette. “It’s for the best she didn’t show. Saves Sev the embarrassment of her running off with me instead. But we all know that he’s good at being passed over; don’t we?”

Lily’s face went red to her hairline, and James started laughing so hard that ale came out his nose. A glance at the chipped clock over the bar told Severus that it was well past midnight, and he decided that he’d sacrificed quite enough time to this failed experiment. He finished his pint with deliberate slowness and, retrieving Miss Rose’s book from the table, he took his leave of the company. 

“Don’t go, Sev,” Lily said, her face still flushed. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

“There’s a potion on the fire that still requires bottling,” he said, ignoring her entreaties. “Don’t worry yourself Lily. It was an idle fancy, nothing more.”

“Come for dinner on Saturday, will you? And bring Eileen if she’s not busy.”

He did not wish to join the Potters for dinner, but he wished to hurt Lily’s feelings even less. “I will.”

The summer night was temperate, filled with stars and a lovely half moon to compliment their light. It was the perfect evening for walking arm and arm with an old—or a new—sweetheart. 

Not that Severus would know anything about that sort of pleasure. Some people are simply fated to be alone.


	3. opportunity knocks

Severus spent Monday afternoon attempting to exorcise the disappointed embarrassment of the night before by the sweat of his brow. The potions garden at his residence in Godric’s Hollow was in full bloom; the weeds warring with the fragile jasmine and her heartier sister chamomile for dominance. Extricating the unwanted flora from the chosen plants required an abundance of time and patience, only one of which he currently possessed. He was groggy from his uncustomary lie-in following the unexpected hours it had taken him to wrestle the experimental _Memoria_ potion from cauldron to glassware; and frustrated by the insistence with which the image of Miss Rose’s smile intruded into his thoughts. One might think she was taunting him on purpose, except that her lips were such pleasant things to dwell upon.

The back door to the snug stone cottage swung open, admitting Eileen Snape to the garden. Severus was in the midst of battle with a creeping tiger thistle and paid her no attention—that is he until he realized that his mother was not alone.

“He’s right out here,” Eileen said, sounding somewhat bewildered. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No thank you. I don’t want to be a bother,” Miss Rose replied. “It was nice to meet you Mrs Snape.”

“I’m sure.”

Eileen must have chosen not to linger with the stranger, for Severus heard her quick steps retreating into the house. He shot a look over his shoulder at the flighty American witch and his heart started to pound with a force that had nothing to do with his physical exertions. As confusion and mortification crashed together (why did he have to encounter this woman when he was covered in dirt and sweat?) he snapped his head back towards his work and redoubled his efforts; taking out his temper on the unfortunate weed. In the less than forty-eight hours since he’d met this woman, she’d managed to steal his book (unintentionally?) and embarrass him in front of the likes of James Potter and Sirius Black—and now his mother; who would no doubt be far too curious about why Severus was receiving attractive female visitors at home on a Monday afternoon. It was enough to condemn any nascent relationship (not that there even was a relationship between them) like a weed to the flames.

The thistle gave way to his attack, and he tossed it onto the pile of its fallen brethren. He took his time wiping his brow with his handkerchief, in a futile attempt both to remove the afternoon’s exertions, and to bring his emotions under control. The whirlpool of sensation refused to be contained, but when he felt that his expression, at the very least, was under his command, he turned to his unexpected guest. She was standing amidst the bell-shaped foxgloves, patiently waiting for his attention. Curse her, she looked even more lovely than she had in the park; and serene as though she’d not done anything so audacious as disappoint him in public only to reappear in his inner sanctum.

“Hello, Professor Snape,” she said (and curse her again how his heart rate increased at the sound of his name on her tongue). “My apologies for the intrusion, but I was very sorry to miss you last night, and I was hoping you might give me the opportunity to explain.”

“I suppose that might be arranged. Do sit down, Miss Rose,” he said stiffly.

“Thank you.”

It was when she started towards the wicker chairs under the shade of the Magnolia tree that he noticed the limp.

“But Miss Rose, you’re hurt,” he said, and wanted to kick himself for how idiotic the observation sounded.

“It’s nothing.” She stumbled even as she made this protest, and he caught her under the elbow to steady her. “Well, almost nothing.”

“So I see. I await your explanation with baited breath.”

He kept his hand in place on her arm until she was safely settled in one of the chairs, and the feel of her skin under his fingers, combined with the becoming blush on her cheeks melted away most of his irritation towards her. Dangerous magic, this.

“In case you were wondering, Lily gave me your address. I think I must have just missed you at the pub last night. But I know I was unforgivably late, so I don’t blame you for leaving when you did.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it unforgivable.” No, with those eyes at that charm she might be forgiven much indeed.

“That’s kind of you to say. I think you’ll remember my mentioning that I’m in town on business.”

“I do. Bounty hunting as I recall.”

“Right. Well, yesterday afternoon I got hold of my quarry, and it was a little more trouble to reign him in than I thought it would be. Graphorns get nasty when they’re cornered, and I had to bring this one in alive. It’s terribly inconvenient to subdue a beast like that when it has no compunction about killing you and you’re not allowed to react in kind.”

“Naturally.”

“I got him, but it took me all evening and a trip to St Mungo’s. Usually I’d avoid the hospital, but the gash was pretty bad and graphorn wounds get infected like you wouldn’t believe. Then the client had to be, shall we say, convinced to pay my actual fee and not the fee that he imagined he ought to pay me. By the time that was all over it was after midnight.”

He’d not quite gotten past the part where she’d captured a graphorn by herself. “Did you really bring down a graphorn alone?”

“I did. Are you impressed?”

“Impressed. Appalled. How can I possibly hope to entertain you if that level of adrenaline is your daily fare?”

“That’s work. I do other things for fun.”

“I shudder to think what those might be.” And he did—but from anticipation rather than horror.

“Oh, the usual things. You don’t happen to like opera do you?”

“I couldn’t say one way or the other. I’ve never been to the theatre.”

“No? We should change that. I mean, if you’d like to give me another chance to keep you waiting for all hours.”

The corner of his lip twitched at this. “Perhaps we might start with something that requires less scheduling.”

She laughed. “I’d say that I’m not busy now; but I appear to have interrupted your gardening.”

Severus was not a spontaneous person by any stretch of the imagination—but he was an opportunist.“I think I’ve beaten back the weeds enough that it will keep for another day.”

“I’m delighted to hear that.” She let her eyes roam over the flowerbeds that were a riot of colorful blooms and industrious pollinators. “You’ve done a beautiful job. But I’d expect as much from a potioner of your expertise. Having access to fresh ingredients must be instrumental to your work.”

“It certainly helps with the cost. And even if it didn’t, I must admit to being so particular about my stock that preparing it myself saves everyone’s sanity.”

“What are you working on now? Or is it secret?”

“It’s not secret so much as experimental. It’s a potion that will enable the drinker to manipulate his memories at will. Something like a pensieve, but without the unpleasant sensation of pulling the memory out of the mind, or the potential lack of privacy of putting one’s thoughts on literal display.”

“Really? Would you be able to use to to remember things you’ve forgotten?”

“Yes. And to—forget is a clumsy word—but mute the things that you’d rather not remember.”

“That’s fascinating! Imagine the potential uses for Healers and Aurors.”

“To name a few. Unfortunately at the moment, it mostly makes the drinker feel inebriated. Although I have yet to test the most recent batch.”

“Where do you find your volunteers?”

“I don’t slip it into my acquaintances' tea if that’s your concern.” 

“What a relief.” She sounded serious, but her eyes were dancing with merriment.

“But I should ask you about yourself rather than going on and on about potions experiments.”

“Me? There’s not much to tell. I’m from a little town in Kansas. When I’m home I live on a farm with my parents and one of my older brothers. When I’m not at home I hunt down magical creatures and renegade wizards for pay. I like long walks, whiskey, and chess. Oh, and baseball, but you probably don’t know what that is.”

“No. I don’t. But I do know chess. Might I interest you in a game?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

In deference to her injury, they played in the garden, even though it put him to the trouble of gathering a table and the chessboard. She was a canny player, and he found himself in the pleasantly novel position of being challenged at the game. After three rounds (Severus 1, Miss Rose 1, and a tie) she accepted a second invitation to tea; and Eileen joined them outside, although she could not be persuaded to talk much. What little she did say was patiently coaxed out by Miss Rose’s gentle attention. It was more than Severus had witnessed his mother speak to a stranger in years.

After tea, Miss Rose decided to take her leave, and in a fit of gallantry he offered to see her home. She graciously accepted, and once he’d gathered her book from his bedside table, the two of them ventured out of the garden into the cobblestone alley together.

“I can take you Side-Along if you like; or we can try something more adventurous,” she said when they were clear of his wards.

“Adventurous? That has an ominous ring to it,” he replied with a smirk.

“It’s a Homing Spell. It’s like Apparition, but it doesn’t make your stomach lurch or your body feel like you’re being stuffed through a straw.”

“I’m not familiar with that particular spell. How does it work?”

“It’s something they teach us at Ilvermorny; and it only works to a place where you’ve set up a hearthstone. But it’s so pleasantly useful that it’s worth the trouble if you’ll be staying somewhere for a decent length of time.”

He wanted to ask her how decent a length of time she was planning to stay in England, but his caution kept the question from leaving his tongue. “Very well, what do I do?”

She reached her hands out towards him, palms up. “First, take my hands.”

As he slid his palms over hers, he could feel her magic sending pricks of awareness all the way up his arms. “Now what?”

“Now close your eyes, and relax.”

“Easier said than done, Miss Rose.”

“Just do your best.”

Relaxation was difficult for him at the best of times, and even more so now that his entire being was aching in the heightened awareness of her presence. But he did close his eyes, and he did pace his breathing. A warm mist blew up around them, and he could feel the droplets kiss his skin.

“You can open them now,” she said.

When he complied, they were standing on a country lane, and he could hear the distant sound of the sea crashing on the shore. The sun was low in the sky, and a quaint little log cabin wavered into view.

“I should like to learn that spell, I think,” he said.

“Maybe someday.”

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and they went up the path to her door. When they reached the front stoop, she looked up at him, her lips parted and unbearably inviting.

“Your book is inside. Would you like to come in and get it?” she asked, her cheeks tinged again with pink.

He did indeed want to go in; but he doubted he would be able to get back out if he succumbed to the temptation. And while he had the suspicion that she would not object to a stolen kiss (or more—who knows?) his instincts told him that the moment had not yet come for such pleasures. He felt as though he were brewing an exquisite potion, and that the right move at the wrong time would dilute its potency more than the wrong move at the right time ever could.

“Would it be too much to ask for you to bring it to me tomorrow evening? I should like the pleasure of your company over dinner if that would be agreeable to you,” he said.

“Perfect. I’ll see you then. Good night, professor.”

“Good night, Miss Rose.”

He leaned down and brushed his lips against her smooth cheek, and his breathing hitched as he caught her scent (lavender, and something even more singular and beguiling). It was with some difficulty that he extricated himself from the moment without breaking his resolve; tantalized to the point of distraction. She went into the cabin somewhat reluctantly (or so he fancied) and it vanished the instant she closed the wooden door.

For a moment he felt like the fool of the world for letting her go; worried that perhaps he’d misread the signs. But a powerful calm followed this uncertainty.

He knew when to let a brew steep and when to strike.


	4. the dark mark

The attic of Flourish and Blotts was a bibliophile’s dream. Rare books bound in oiled leather with gold edged pages overflowed the handsome inset bookshelves, coquettishly waiting to be admired like debutantes who know their worth. Sturdy poufs sat discretely in the nooks and crannies of the oddly shaped room for the better comfort of the discerning buyers, tempting one to fritter away the hours until closing deep in the worlds between the pages. During the daylight hours, the attic was flooded with light from the wide windows lining the roof, and after dark the candles descended to float wherever required. Not every patron was allowed into this holy haven; but Severus had proved his worth long ago, working the summers after the War and requesting his payment be in books rather than galleons. His recommendation had been enough to secure Miranda’s admittance this afternoon as well, and she moved through the treasured room as a nymph in paradise. 

“What do you think of Cato Minutus?” Miranda asked, paging through an oversize tome.

“I find him pedantic, but his attention to detail is unparalleled,” Severus replied slowly. He was finding that the simple act of being in the American witch’s presence drove him to distraction, turning inconsequential things such as forming intelligible sentences into feats of mental strength. “But if I’m looking for entertainment I find Arnold Idlewild better suited to an evening by the fire.”

“An important consideration. I have been meaning to pick up Idlewild’s new history on the Great War. It seems there’s always a clown in America who wants to emulate the European extremists. More than one Grindelwald or Voldemort fanatic if you take my meaning.”

He grimaced and involuntarily tugged at his left sleeve. Here was another reason to wait before nudging things further. Who knew what she would say if—or when—she saw his mark?

“How unfortunate. Do you aspire to become an Auror in the future?” he asked, attempting to steer the conversation into safer waters.

“Nah. Too many rules. I like being free to make my own operating decisions. How about you? Do you always want to be a teacher?”

“I…haven’t thought much about it,” he admitted. The warmth and frankness of her eyes coaxed secrets from him that he’d struggled to admit to himself. It was a thrilling—and disconcerting—experience.

“Maybe you should. I mean, being a teacher is fine, important work; don’t get me wrong. But someone of your brilliance must have many career paths available to you.”

He turned away to pick through another stack of books as the unaccustomed praise fell on his ears. “You flatter me.”

“I do, but not idly. Where do you want to be in five years?”

He was tempted to return this honest question with a sarcastic quip, but it dawned on him that he did not particularly want to be in the Hogwarts dungeon five years hence. In fact, as he glanced up to study her in her becoming sundress, her head bent over a book and a stack of them haphazardly teetering in front of her, he thought that wherever he was in five years, he hoped very much it would be somewhere in her vicinity.

“I shall have to think about it,” he said at last.

“Good. I hope you do.”

Another half hour passed in companionable silence. When the bells of St Claire in the Tower began to chime, they gathered their purchases to be carefully wrapped according to Madame Flourish’s exacting standards, and went out into the bright afternoon.

“I do apologize for not taking you to tea,” Severus said as they wandered over the cobblestones, stealing a few final moments together. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” she replied. “I remembered that you have an engagement tonight. I have one myself.”

“Oh? Business or pleasure?”

“Pleasure, for certain. I’m meeting Lily and the boys at the ice cream parlor, and then we’re going back to their place for a little Quidditch match. I hear that the boys have been talking their parents’ ears off about my playing Quidditch with them. Although I expect it’ll be more of a demonstration.”

“Harry flies very well for a boy his age,” Severus allowed, suddenly wishing that he were headed to the Potter home rather than to the Malfoys’ this evening. “I hope you have a pleasant time.”

“I’m sure I will.” She glanced at him sideways. “But I think I’d have a more pleasant time if we were playing baseball.”

“Baseball?”

“A No-Maj game—far superior to Quiddtich,” she boasted with an arch look.

“That is a hefty claim. I don’t know that I believe you,” he countered.

“You should. But I don’t have time to fully educate your palate now. Baseball is a complicated sport, for discerning minds.”

“I look forward to your enlightening me on the subject.”

The afternoon crowd was already gathering inside Florian’s colorful shop, and Severus could clearly see Lily and her sons at the counter. 

“I had a lovely time,” Miranda said, valiantly ignoring the waves of the boys inside the shop.

An awkward silence fell as Severus’s mind performed a myriad of strategic computations regarding when he might request to see her again without appearing to be some sort of desperate fool. Tomorrow was surely too soon, and Saturday was already sacrificed to Lily’s demands. 

“Would you care to join me for tea on Monday afternoon?” he asked. Perfect. He would avoid appearing inappropriately eager, and if Lily was as predictable as he expected her to be, he would see Miranda on Saturday all the same. “Mother will be there, I’m afraid, but she seemed fairly taken with you.”

“I’d be happy to. Have a nice weekend.”

He thought she sounded mildly disappointed, but perhaps he imagined it. 

“I hope you will do the same. Good afternoon Miranda.”

They were in the middle of the sidewalk, and he knew that Lily was watching him through the window—but he didn’t care. He bent and brushed his lips against Miranda’s cheek in front of God and everyone, and went away feeling marvelously content with the world.

******

That evening Severus sat in Malfoy Manor’s majestic drawing room, listening to young Lyra Malfoy pick through a shaky rendition of _Für Elise_ and trying not to yawn. He held a perfectly dry martini in one hand, and his other hand fidgeted with a loose thread on one of the embroidered sofa cushions. He did his best to appear outwardly attentive, but his thoughts were all for playful smiles and shining gray eyes.

“Tell me Severus, did your American friend ever make it to your house?” Regulus asked quietly without turning his head.

“She did, thank you,” Severus replied, on guard. “I take it you spent some time with her at the Coil after I left?”

“You're right about that. She’s a superb dancer, if you haven’t found that out yet.” Unlike his brother Sirius, Regulus generally did not make jokes at everyone’s expense—he reserved this amusement for his closest companions.

“I’m afraid I’ve not had the pleasure.”

“How tragic. You’re in for a treat if you don’t make a muck of things before then..”

“What are the two of you going on about?” demanded Lucius, always glad to have an excuse not to listen to his daughter play.

“Severus’s new flame,” Regulus replied.

“I’d hardly call the lady by that name,” Severus said defensively. 

The song came to an end, and Severus attempted to delay the inevitable by leading the applause. Lyra blushed and curtseyed prettily, and then darted away from the piano bench before her Mama could entreat her to play again. Draco had long since refused to perform for company, and soon he and his sister were deep in a noisy game of wizard chess. Narcissa turned her attention from her children to her guests, and Lucius renewed the previous topic.

“Regulus tells me that Severus has a paramour, darling,” Lucius said, obviously enjoying himself.

Narcissa gave Severus an accusatory look. “Do you? Severus, you should have told me. I’d have invited her this evening.”

“It’s not serious,” Severus protested. “I’ve known her barely a week. It’s hardly time to subject her to the scrutiny of the social rounds.”

“But she’s met your mother, hasn’t she?” Regulus asked wickedly.

“I…yes, she has.” Damn. This was clearly a losing battle.

“How did they get on?” Narcissa probed.

“Fine.” So well that his mother had actually set foot outdoors without prompting every day afterwards.

“How splendid! We must have her join us for the summer party. We’ll invite Eileen, and perhaps we ought to have Dromeda and Walburga too.” Narcissa proclaimed.

“I want to hear more about her,” Lucius said, bored by the minutia of organizing social events. “Who is she?”

“Her name’s Miranda Rose, and she’s an American,” Regulus supplied. “She drinks like a bloke and dances like a lady, and Merlin knows what she sees in Severus.”

This had gone quite far enough. “Narcissa, I thank you for your hospitality, but I must ask you to desist in match-making. At least for the time being.”

“Nonsense. If you don’t bring her to the summer party, _I_ will,” Regulus said with a mischievous grin, though Severus knew this threat to be an idle one.

Lucius clapped Severus on the shoulder. “It’s done, lad. Best not to argue.”

“I…” Severus began.

“Come out to the stables. I’ve a new pair of Arabians to show you,” Lucius interrupted.

“You’ve lost, Severus,” Regulus said. 

Or had he won? “Narcissa, you must do as you see fit,” Severus said, giving up the vain struggle at last.

“And so I shall,” she replied.

As Severus followed Lucius and Regulus over the stately grounds towards the stables, he wondered how comfortable Miranda would be amongst a quorum of the oldest Wizarding families in Great Britain. Walburga could in no way be trusted to keep watch over her capriciously venomous tongue, but if the Tonks family were in attendance, that would balance the scales to some extent. If the invitation came, it might well be best for him to explain certain details of his and his fellows’ lives that he’d rather leave in the dark. Much as he’d rather defer such discussions indefinitely, perhaps it would be better to have done with it now before the witch ensnared him completely.

If only he could be sure that she would not turn away in disgust when the truth came to light.


	5. revelio homenum

“I’m not sure I want to go after all,” Eileen said, plucking at her light summer robes. “Maybe I should go back home. They’ll never miss me.”

This was the fourth time in the last hour that she had changed her mind about accepting the Potter’s invitation. Severus’s right eyebrow began to twitch with the effort of restraining himself from otherwise showing his frustration with his mother’s indecision.

“They will miss you, otherwise they would not have asked you to come. If you wish for me to walk you home, I will, but seeing as we are within eyesight of the Potter’s house, I think it would be better to soldier through,” he replied.

She still looked uncertain, but reluctantly agreed with a pained smile. “I suppose you’re right. Remind me not to accept invitations in the future, would you?”

“Perhaps we might wait until a less stressful time to take such final decisions,” Severus replied gently.

Eileen muttered something that he could not quite make out, and he chose to press onwards to their destination rather than ask her to repeat herself. The front door to the Potter’s bungalow was open wide to the world, with an enchanted cross breeze blowing bugs and other pests away from the arched doorframe. Sounds of laughter and music from the wireless met them on the front stoop, but they made it all the way to the kitchen before they met anyone.

“Eileen, I’m so happy you came,” said Euphemia Potter brightly over the tray of summer fruit that she was arranging.“Severus, it’s good to see you too. Would you mind taking this out to the garden for me? Eileen come, sit down and have a cup of tea with me before we go out amongst the ruffians.”

“Of course, Mrs Potter,” Severus said, accepting the tray and doing his best to ignore his mother’s anxious face as he abandoned her to the care of James’s mother. Hopefully Euphemia would be able to distract Eileen before the latter’s nerves got the better of her.

The back lawn that Mrs Potter cheekily referred to as the garden was in complete chaos as he emerged from the kitchen. The Potter children were deep in a mad game of tag with Sirius, Regulus, and James. Severus had to dodge around them while balancing the tray in order to reach the table near the rosebushes that held salads, punch, and bottled ales on ice. A fire crackled at the other end of the lawn, being tended by Remus and Lily, and a rack of roasting meat hovered over it, sending tantalizing smells across the whole of the yard.

Severus deposited the tray on the table, and went at a leisurely pace to join Lily and Remus, surreptitiously searching for the silver-haired American. She was not to be seen, and he tried to ignore how that realization made his heart sink. He was always happy to spend time with Lily, but he couldn’t deny that he’d been hoping to spend the evening with the beguiling Miranda as well.

“It’s so hot,” complained Lily, by way of greeting.

“I thought it seemed cooler than it did this afternoon,” Severus replied, bending to press a kiss to Lily’s flushed cheek before claiming one of the lawn chairs.

“Maybe if I weren’t the size of a hippogriff, I’d be able to tell the difference.”

“All in good time. You’ve only three more weeks left, haven’t you?”

Lily made a face and heaved a dramatic sigh, “So the Healers say, but who knows? Harry was two weeks late, and Thomas was a week early.”

“This fellow will be right on time, just as William was,” said Remus, the godfather-to-be.

“And with any luck, she’ll be a girl too,” Lily agreed. “Don’t pout, though Sev, I invited Miranda.”

“I wasn’t pouting,” Severus countered, even as his ears began to grow hot.

“And look at you, rigged out so smartly for her,” Lily persisted.

Severus tugged at the sleeve of his crisp linen shirt, and wished that he’d left his hair down to cover his traitorous ears.

“And now you’re blushing,” Remus observed.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about. In this heat, anyone would be red,” Severus said.

“I thought you just said it was cooler,” Lily laughed.

“Miss Rose!”

A chorus of children’s voices rang out over the lawn, and the boys rushed to crowd around Miranda as she descended from the back porch; her arms laden with a covered tray, and her hair swept up, exposing her lovely neck. Severus stood without thinking, and was halfway across the lawn before he noticed Lily and Remus laughing behind him. No matter, let them have their laughter if it bought him a moment to bask in this nymph’s bright smile.

“I hope you’re not sorry to see me,” Miranda said when he reached her.

“On the contrary. I could not be more pleased,” Severus replied, more than a little surprised by his own honesty.

The children made way for him (they knew better than to take liberties with their Uncle Sev unless he was in one of his rare, lighter moods) and he relieved Miranda of her burden.

“The s'mores? Did you bring them?” asked Harry excitedly.

“I did,” Miranda replied. “I wouldn’t disappoint you.”

“Dare I ask what Harry is speaking of?” Severus said.

“It’s an American delicacy. I was telling the boys about it when I was over on Thursday, and none of them had ever made or had one.”

“That’s right, Uncle Sev,” said Thomas. “You put a marshmallow candy on a stick, and you toast it over a fire…”

“A stick?” Severus asked, amused.

“A stick! And then you put it with chocolate and a biscuit and you eat it with your hands!” Harry finished.

“Chocolate!” echoed William.

“That sounds barbaric,” Severus said, enjoying the way that Miranda’s cheeks pinked for him. He found her blushes delightful, and he wondered what other reactions might be coaxed from her with similar care.

“It is,” Miranda confirmed. “But they’re delicious too.”

As Severus put the tray of the Yankie dessert on the table, the rest of the company gathered around the new guest. Ales were distributed, followed by a dinner which the children were barely willing to eat, being so excited by the guests. Euphemia coaxed Eileen out onto the back porch, and at one point, Severus glanced up to see his mother sharing a bench with Miranda, and actually talking to her.

“I think it’s about time for that rematch, Miranda,” said James, after the first round of dinner had been demolished.

“You say that after I ate? I think you’re not playing fair,” Miranda said.

“You’ll do fine,” Sirius said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “I call dibs for you on my team. Regulus too.”

“I guess that leaves me with Remus and Sev,” James said. “Don’t embarrass me.”

Remus was looking rather ill at the moment, and Severus wished, not for the first time, that James and Sirius would ever take some one else’s needs into consideration before making demands on them. The full moon was only two days hence, and Remus never liked to fly so close to it. If Severus could be bothered to remember such things, surely Sirius and James—Remus’s supposed best mates—could as well.

Miranda seemed much quicker on the uptake. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not feeling up to flying just now. Remus, how about you come teach me the European version of Exploding Snap.”

Remus was hugely relieved. “I’d love to.”

Before Sirius and James could voice their complaints too loudly, Remus and Miranda had joined Lily, Eileen, and Euphemia on the porch.

“Coward,” Sirius grumbled.

Miranda’s eyes flashed in his direction, but she said nothing. Severus and Regulus made a fair amount of unnecessary noise passing out equipment to drown out the complaints, and soon they, along with Sirius and James, were aloft in a two-on-two Quidditch match. The children were running between the game in the air and the game on the ground, and Severus was doing his best to dodge the bludgers and guard his flower-ringed hoop (a permanent fixture among the rose bushes). James and Sirius were flying wild rings around each other, showing off, and growing more and more irritated when none of the adults seemed impressed. At one point, Harry released the golden snitch, and Severus groaned. It was bad enough having to play without the snitch—with the snitch, it might take them all night to be finished.

Fortunately, Regulus’s reflexes were sharp, and he snatched the golden ball right before it started to dart off into oblivion. By then the children were engrossed with the preparations for Miranda’s treat. She, Remus, and Eileen (much to Severus’s surprise) were merrily carving sticks for roasting (how was that at all sanitary?) and soon were busy keeping everyone supplied with sweets. Severus declined the finished work, but did deign to eat the items separately, especially once he learned that the biscuits and the marshmallow candy were the work of Miranda’s own hands.

“I couldn’t find anything like them down at the Tesco, so I just made them myself,” she explained when he asked.

“She’s a clever girl, eh Sev,” teased James.

“So she is,” Severus agreed as Miranda turned away to help another sticky child armed with stick and candy, a pleased smile playing on her lips.

The good will of the evening was very nearly spoiled when Sirius got out his guitar. He was a good player with a fine voice, but he had somewhat sorry taste when it came to selecting repertoire. He launched into a loud _Come on Eileen_ , his eyes glinting in Eileen’s direction. At that moment, Severus was across the lawn, spotting Thomas and William as they hovered and flew on their brooms, and could do nothing to save his mother. As the lyrics of the song became more and more crass, Eileen hunched further and further over in her chair. Severus worried that she would soon be huddled in a ball on the lawn.

Miranda stepped in again though, taking Eileen by the arm and saying a quick good bye to the party. As the women walked towards the house, Lily came waddling over to Severus, looking contrite.

“I’m sorry, I wish that Sirius would think before he acted once in a while,” Lily said, clearly embarrassed.

“We’re all used to Sirius’s lack of discretion,” Severus replied irritably.

“Why don’t you take Eileen home? She’s been here a long time,” Lily said.

“I believe that I will. Thank you for having us.”

“And?”

He snorted. “And for inviting Miss Rose. Though you needn’t be so heavy-handed.”

“Ha! And have you miss out because you move like molasses? What kind of friend would I be then?”

He didn’t answer this rhetorical question, and with a good night to the boys and to Mrs Potter, he was soon escorting his mother across the square to their little cottage. Miranda came with them, arm in arm with Eileen, and deep in a discussion about herbs and tinctures.

“I’ve thought sometimes about restarting my Healer studies,” Eileen said shyly.

“That’s wonderful! Is there anything standing in the way?” Miranda asked.

“You mean, besides the fact that I can’t seem to leave the house without falling into panic?”

“Yes, although that’s definitely something to be considered.”

“I think I’m probably too old.”

“I don’t think so. Lots of people take a second career mid-life. And I would think that in this day and age you could do most of your study at home. What do you say Severus?”

“I should think that could be arranged.” How marvelous that Miranda had discovered his mother’s dreams so quickly—dreams she’d not even shared with him. “If you like, I can help you arrange whatever would be necessary.”

His mother smiled her sad smile. “I’ll think about it.”

Eileen breathed a sigh of relief when they were home at last, and excused herself up to bed. Severus awkwardly extended an invitation for a late-night cuppa, which Miranda graciously accepted. As moonlight mingled with candlelight in the neat kitchen, Severus attempted not to embarrass himself by dropping the teapot; hyperaware of their intimate setting together in the quiet of the summer night.

“You’re lucky to have such a nice group of friends,” Miranda said as he sat down across from her in the breakfast nook he usually shared with his mother. “They’re really something special.”

“They are that,” Severus admitted, pouring out the tea for them both. He took his with cream, like usual, and Miranda drank hers with no adornments at all. “Though one might wish that some of them would think before they spoke.”

She laughed lightly. “Sirius is a little over the top, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” Over the top indeed.

“Has he always been like that?”

“Since our school days.”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing that he’s kept his sense of humor this long. As I understand the Great War was no laughing matter.”

It still wasn’t. “No. Not in the least.”

“You don’t have to talk about it. I wasn’t trying to pry.”

She said this simply, with no sense of duplicity or embarrassment. His own conscience pricked him, whispering about dark marks and darker deeds, even as his baser instincts told him to kiss her now and worry about confessions later. But, perhaps because he desired those embraces with a strength that was almost troubling, he knew he must take the high road.

“I didn’t think that you were,” he said slowly, “but since it’s been mentioned, there is something I ought to tell you before…anything further happens.”

Her eyebrows raised, but she seemed curious rather than alarmed. “I’m all ears.”

A thousand explanations crowded his mind, all of them wanting. At last, he set his teacup aside, and unbuttoned the cuff of his left shirt sleeve. As he began to roll up the hem, understanding dawned in Miranda’s intelligent eyes, and she put a hand over his, halting his progress.

“You were a Death Eater, weren’t you?” she said.

“I have no wish to make excuses for my actions,” he replied. “Yes, I was.”

She was quiet for a time, but her hand still covered his. He was taut as a bowstring, waiting for her verdict; but that warm touch was enough to keep his foolish hopes alive.

“If I’ve done my math correctly,” she said at last, “you must have been young when you joined the War.”

“I was old enough to know better.”

“That maybe be true. But, seeing as you’re not in Azkaban, I’m guessing you switched sides at some point.”

“I did. That does not excuse my joining the wrong side in the first place. I’ve done…terrible things.”

“I’m no saint either. And the fact that you’ve owned up to them—that you realized your mistake and pulled yourself out of it—well, that takes a lot of grit. Where I’m from a man’s measured by his grit.”

The acceptance in her eyes was such an intoxicating potion that it took him a moment to process the rush of emotions that crashed through him. When he at last found his voice, he could only think of one thing to say.

“Miranda, I should very much like to kiss you.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, and he wondered if she’d done it purposefully, it was so enticing.

“I wish that you would.”

He stood and was quickly undermined by his own eagerness; colliding with the table and overturning a teacup. In his haste he managed to mash his nose against hers (curse his overlarge nose!), and he pulled away from her perfect lips almost as soon as he’d made contact. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he was scarcely able to breathe as he registered the desire kindling in her luminous eyes. This was all the encouragement he required. He took hold of her hand, and gathered his whirling thoughts to a singular purpose.

“I can do better than that,” he said. “Come.”

She let out a bell-like laugh as he led her into the garden outside. The silvery light of the nearly-full moon set the nocturnal flowers glowing with a mystic beauty. When they were hidden from view of the house, he turned on the path and his breath caught—she put all the flowers of his garden to shame.

“Once more with feeling?” she said cheekily.

His laughter mingled with hers, chasing away what remained of his nerves. As he lowered his lips (slanted this time to avoid nose mashing) he heard her laugh melt into a sigh even before he’d made contact. Her lips tasted of a tantalizing mixture of the bitter tea and the sweetest wine—the food of the gods, now only for him. He drank of them patiently though, coaxing sounds of pleasure from her throat with the deftness of his touch rather than demanding them by force. One of her hands clutched at his shirt as she yielded to him, the other slipped up to caress the skin on the back of his neck, and hemoaned as he pulled her more firmly against him, throwing himself into the whirlpool of sensation with reckless abandon. Their bodies fit together effortlessly, and by the time her lips parted for him, all capacity for rational thought had long since fled.

It was with great reluctance that he ended this first, proper kiss in order to draw breath. She was leaning heavily against him, her eyes half closed, and he bent to trail his lips over her jawline.

“ _Severus_ ,” she gasped as he teased her throat, settling at last on the spot that provoked the most reaction from her. “Oh, _fuck_.”

“I trust I may take that colloquialism as encouragement,” he murmured, letting his breath tease her skin.

In response, she rolled her hips against his, and sweet Circe he wished her to do that again and _never_ stop. With a groan that was equal parts victor and vanquished, he took her lips again, all teasing finished. He needed more of her touch, more of her taste, more of her scent, more of _her_ , and…

“Severus! Are you out there?”

Eileen’s frightened voice cut through his amorous haze. Panting, he broke off the kiss, but he made no move to release Miranda from his embrace, and she made no move to escape him.

“Yes, mother,” he said, fighting to sound calm and only managing to sound annoyed. “I’m seeing Miss Rose to the edge of the wards. I’ll be in shortly.”

“Yes, please hurry,” Eileen said, and he heard her footsteps retreating into the house.

He closed his eyes briefly, attempting to master both his irritation and his ardor. When he opened them, Miranda was yet in his arms, and gazing up at him, unflustered by their interruption.

“I apologize,” he began.

“You don’t have to,” she said. “It’s obvious to me that you’re a good son.”

“That has not always been the case,” he admitted.

She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “That may be so, but it seems to be the case now.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist as they went past the fragrant jasmine to the garden gate. She did not begrudge him a final kiss, which sharpened, rather than slaked his thirst for her.

“Are we planning for Monday?” she asked, her hand still in his.

“Hang Monday,” he said. “Are you at liberty tomorrow? For dinner?”

“I think that can be arranged.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead (he doubted his ability to stop if he risked anything more daring) and stepped back to watch her disappear. A mist gathered around her, and his eyes were on her smile until she vanished into it. As he made his way back to the house, the perfume of his garden could not displace the memory of her scent, beguiling as it was. The feel of her in his arms tantalized him long into the night, but he was wise enough to know that the anticipation of further pleasures would make them all the sweeter when they came.


	6. a pox on both your houses

As the clock ticked towards six the following evening, Severus sat in the parlor, attempting to read _The Daily Prophet_ while Eileen drove him to the brink of insanity with her incessant cleaning. The cottage was in perfect order already, but he did his best to bite his tongue, knowing that his mother was using this unnecessary expenditure of energy as a means of managing her nerves. He had no doubt that by the time he and Miranda returned from their dinner Eileen would have laundered every piece of cloth they owned and reorganized every room. He was reasonably certain that she would leave his potions room out of her frenzy, and he appreciated her sacrifice too much to bring attention to her current state by cautioning her against entering his inner sanctum. Spending an evening alone was not high on Eileen’s list of preferred pastimes, and Severus knew what it cost her to let him go.

“I’ll be fine,” Eileen said as she attacked the invisible dust on the mantel, levitating the pictures with shaky wand flicks as she went down the line (the knick knacks scrambled out of the way of their own accord, terrified of being smashed to dust on the bricks below.

“Yes, you will,” Severus replied. “There’s a fresh Calming Draught in the icebox should you require it.”

“Thank you. You’ll only be gone for a few hours, yes?”

These ritualistic pep talks were tedious, but he submitted to them as graciously as his temper allowed.

“That is my plan. And Curry Favors the Brave is only across the lane.” 

“Yes, I remember.”

“Would you like me to send you home a dish of chana masala?”

“No…yes, I would. I can keep it warm if I don’t want to eat while you’re away.” She finished the length of the mantelpiece and lowered the pictures back into place. “I’m sorry to be so troublesome. At my age you’d think I’d want some time alone.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Mother,” he reassured her for the umpteenth time. 

There was a sharp knock on the door that sent Eileen scurrying out of the room to regroup her courage. Severus neatly folded the paper and set it on the side table, his pulse quickening in anticipation. As he passed the fireplace, he paused long enough to study his reflection in the mirror above it. His hair was slicked back and secured with a band of leather at the nape of his neck, and his black lawn shirt was perfectly pressed. His face was rather pallid, and there was nothing he could do about his crooked nose, but, for some unfathomable reason, Miranda seemed not to mind the faults of his countenance. Satisfied that his appearance was as orderly as he could expect, he went to open the door, where he found James, Harry, Thomas, and William waiting on his stoop rather than his fair dinner guest.

“Sev, I’m leaving the boys with you,” James said without preamble. “Sorry about the last minute notice.”

“Has something happened to Lily?” Severus demanded.

A cacophony ensued as all three boys, and James, began speaking at once. Severus scowled from the frightened faces of the children to James’s haunted expression, but could make no sense of the din. At last James put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly, calling the boys to order.

“Boys, go into the parlor, now,” James ordered in his most martial tone.

“Is it as bad as it appears?” Severus asked when the children had reluctantly filed past him.

James raked a hand through his tangled hair. “Lily’s in labour and it doesn’t look like it’s going to stop. I’m taking her to St Mungo’s on the Healer’s orders. Harry has the mirror and their overnight things in his knapsack. I’ll call as soon as I can.”

“I see.” 

“Look, I wouldn’t dump them on you, but Remus is out of commission, and Sirius can’t be trusted with a plant, let alone with children.”

“I remember.”

“I’d take them to my parents’, but Dad’s managed to come down with dragon pox and…”

“Dragon pox? I thought he had a cold.”

The worried expression on James’s face became one of extreme irritation. “That’s what he and Mum thought too, otherwise she wouldn’t have come to the party yesterday either. Luckily we’ve all had it, or Lily would be in more of a snit right now than she already is.”

“As well she should be.” 

“Just feed them whatever you want for dinner and try to get them in bed before midnight. I need to get back to Lily.”

Severus restrained himself from saying any of the myriad quips to give vent to his frustration with this impossible situation. “Of course.”

“Thanks, Sev.” 

James flashed a relieved grin and hurried away from the cottage, vanishing the instant he was through the edge of the wards. There was the briefest moment of silence before Severus heard his mother return to the parlor, and the boys erupted into a chaotic explanation of their sudden appearance in response to her confused questioning. Severus was distracted enough to leave the door ajar as he went to regain control of the situation. Eileen’s hands were fisted nervously in her summer robes, Harry and Thomas were talking so loudly that neither could be understood, and William had large tears running down his cheeks as he wailed over them both. Severus barely had time to register everything that had happened in the past five minutes—let alone bring the room to any sort of order—when Miranda appeared beside him, having slipped in through the open door. 

A ridiculous blend of embarrassment and desire shot through Severus as Miranda took in the scene, and he took in the way that her holly green sheath dress clung to her curves. Explanation was impossible, as the Potter boys were all still shouting and wailing respectively, but when William recognized the newest member of the audience, he toddled over to Miranda and held his little arms up to her as he cried. 

“You poor thing,” Miranda said, scooping him up. “Tell me everything.”

William buried his face in her shoulder, and while he did not stop wailing, this did muffle some of the sound. Harry and Thomas turned and, seeing the newcomer, they paused to regroup their stories, giving Severus the instant he needed intervene. 

“Lily’s gone into labour,” Severus explained crisply. “They’ve no one else to watch the boys save us.”

“Oh my,” said Eileen, what little color she had draining from her cheeks.

“Mum’s not supposed to have the baby yet,” Harry said, his green eyes flashing with anger and, Severus suspected, fear. “We were supposed to go to Nanny and Grandad’s when Mum had the baby.”

“Can’t go to Nanny’s,” Thomas interjected. “Grandad has dragon pox. Is the baby going to get dragon pox Uncle Sev?”

“Of course not,” Severus said—although truthfully he had no idea if babies could contract the pox in utero—but he saw no purpose in frightening the boys with possibilities that no one could control. 

“You’ve had dragon pox, right?” Thomas asked, his lower lip trembling.

“I have. As has Aunt Eileen,” Severus replied. 

“Then everything will be just fine,” Miranda said calmly.

“What about Grandad?” Harry demanded. “And Mum? And the baby?”

Severus closed his eyes briefly to gather his patience. “They are all in good hands, Harry. Worrying will not do any good for them.”

“But…”

“No buts.” Severus made a conscious effort to soften his tone. “Harry, you’re the oldest. I’m counting on you for your help this evening.”

Harry plainly wanted to either shout or cry, but he rallied as the weight of responsibility settled on his young shoulders.

“I’ll try.”

“There’s a good lad. Take your brothers into the garden. You may pick all the cherries you like.”

This was an unusual treat, reserved for the most desperate occasions, and even William stopped crying to partake of it. Harry took his brothers by the hand and led them through the kitchen and into the garden with an air of exaggerated importance. Eileen sat down heavily on the sofa, her hands still twisting the skirts of her robe, and Miranda watched Severus with a bemused smile on her lovely face.

“Never a dull moment, is there?” Miranda said.

“Unfortunately, no,” Severus replied. 

“I hope that Monty will be alright,” Eileen said. “Dragon pox at his age.”

“I’m sure that he will be fine,” Severus replied automatically. “He has a strong constitution.”

“He does, but you never know about these things.” Eileen visibly gathered her courage and forced a smile. “But the two of you should be off if you’re going to make your dinner reservation.”

Severus could have kissed his mother for her show of bravado, but he knew such a demonstration would embarrass her terribly. He was searching for a way to communicate to Miranda that this might be asking too much of both Eileen and the children, when the fire behind him flared a sickly green, and the pinched face of witch appeared.

“ _Hem_ , _hem_ ,” the witch in the fire coughed as she shuffled a stack of papers. “It has come to the Ministry’s attention that the inhabitants of Number 25 Reynard Lane have been exposed to dragon pox. According to Ministry Edict 3,747 C, you are all ordered to keep strict quarantine for the next seven days. Violation of this will result in a fine of no less than 500 Galleons. Have a nice day.”

The green flames wavered and belched out scroll of parchment that rolled across the floor. Severus retrieved the missive, and the fire returned to its usual crackling. The parchment merely confirmed the Ministry witch’s condescending edict, and Severus promptly rolled the thing up and set it on the mantelpiece to forget. 

“I suppose that settles the dinner question,” he said.

Before either of the ladies could respond, there was a crash outside and William’s renewed crying heralded some fresh disaster. 

“I’ve got them. You catch your breath,” Eileen said, dashing off to tend the children.

Until that moment, Severus hadn’t realized quite how off-kilter he was from the upending of his carefully laid (if somewhat spontaneous) plans, and he actually put a hand on the mantel in order to steady himself as he remembered to breathe rather than pant like a threatened animal. 

“That was exciting,” Miranda said.

“Coming from you, I shall take that as high praise,” Severus replied. “May I safely assume that you have had the pox as well?”

“Actually, I’m not certain I have. My first year at Ilvermorny most of my house came down with it, but I never showed any symptoms.”

He frowned as the worst cases of adult dragon pox immediately leapt to the fore of his mind. “I’m sorry to have exposed you.”

She shrugged. “There’s no sense in worrying at this point.”

“I wish I could be so cavalier. You will alert me should you start to feel any symptoms?”

She held up her hands in capitulation. “I promise. I won’t be a hero.”

Her lightness of manner began to work on him, and he traced a finger affectionately over her cheek. “That will do.”

“I think the next order of business should be securing dinner.”

“Agreed.”

“Why don’t you place an order, and I’ll help Eileen occupy the boys while we wait.”

“Are you always so at ease under adverse circumstances?”

“I’m from sturdy stock.” She leaned up and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. “Besides, I can think of worse things than being trapped in a house with you for a week.”

“I concur, but I might have wished the experience to be free of an audience.”

She laughed at this, and his eyes lingered on her as she went out of the room. After he’d regrouped his wits from the effect of her kiss, he put them to the task of arranging the comfort of his guests. Prospero, Severus’s mercurial black cat, was dispatched to Curry, the dinner order written on a parchment tucked into his collar, and a purse of coins in his mouth. Severus spent the next half hour transfiguring the parlor furniture into beds for the boys, and gathering the necessary linen (which, thanks to his mother’s earlier attack of nerves, was all clean and at the ready). His own room he would yield to Miranda, while he made do with a transfigured bed in his study. 

By the time he was ready to join the others in the garden, Prospero had returned. An animated table bearing trays of curry and chapati on plates charmed to warmth and against spillage marched in behind the cat. Severus set out a dish of fresh salmon for the feline, and led the food for the humans out to the garden, where he found the adults and the children engaged in a rowdy game of blind man’s bluff. The boys broke off their play at the sight of dinner though, and swarmed the table like so many locusts. The meal was a merry affair for the most part, and when the cloud of worry began to descend on Harry and Thomas afterwards, Miranda quickly drew them into a game of riddles to pass away the hours until bedtime. 

After the last Potter child was finally settled into bed, and Eileen had retreated to the solitude of her own bedroom, Severus and Miranda sat down together in the breakfast nook with glasses of wine, and James’s still silent mirror. Prospero gave them a haughty glance before prowling out into the night in search of trouble. In spite of the welcome quiet, and the even more welcome company, Severus found it difficult to resist the urge to ruminate on all the worries of the day.

“My apologies for being such an insipid companion,” Severus said, awkwardly breaking the silence. 

“Insipid is the last thing I would call you,” Miranda replied, glancing at the mirror. “I’m sure everything is fine.”

“It is true that the healers at St Mungo’s are some of the best in the world.”

“They can’t be worse than No-Maj doctors.”

There was a bitterness in her tone that gave Severus pause. “Have you reason to complain of Muggle care?”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“I am sorry that was the case, but I am glad that you came through in one piece.”

“Well, mostly.” She took a long sip of wine and turned the subject. “Now that we have a minute to think, maybe we should make a plan for tomorrow.”

She had piqued his curiosity with her oblique complaint, but he was reluctant to force a conversation on her that she was unwilling to have. They spent some time arranging work schedules and brainstorming ideas to keep the boys entertained. A lively discussion ensued about whether Kipling or Doyle might be of use in this task, or if the authors were as yet too mature for the boys’ appreciation. The clock above the sink struck midnight while they were still debating the matter, and as Miranda had already stifled more than one yawn, Severus reluctantly suggested they seek their beds.

“You really don’t have to give up your room,” she said as she rose from the table.

“It is my pleasure to do so,” he replied. 

“Then I’ll stop protesting your gallantry.”

It was the most natural thing in the world for him to lean down and capture her lips in a good night kiss that sped from innocent to decadent in the space of a few quickened heart beats. He pulled her against him as the kiss deepened, and the primitive part of his brain began to play out the idea of joining her in the room that his sense of chivalry and decorum demand he yield to her, when the kitchen door creaked open.

“Eeewww,” Harry groaned as he came into the room.

Severus and Miranda stepped hastily away from each other, and a blush spread over Miranda’s cheeks under Harry’s disgusted scrutiny.

“Harry, it is well past the time you ought to be asleep,” Severus chided, irritation covering his embarrassment.

“I _was_ asleep,” Harry protested. “But I woke up.”

Miranda gave Severus a sympathetic look. “I’ll let the two of you work this out. Good night Harry. Keep your chin up.”

“Good night Miss Rose,” Harry replied as Miranda padded out of the kitchen.

“Did something wake you?” Severus asked tersely.

“I just wondered if Dad had said anything yet,” Harry replied.

Harry’s worried expression prompted Severus to muster the remainder of his patience. “Not as yet, I’m afraid.”

“Do you think everything’s okay? Dad told us before he left that he’d call us at bedtime and he didn’t.”

“That doesn’t mean that anything has gone wrong. To my understanding, producing babies is a busy task. Let’s not allow our imaginations run away with us.”

“I guess.”

Harry looked so mournful that Severus did not have the heart to send him directly back to bed. Instead, he sent the child to bring the chess board in from his study. When Harry returned to the kitchen with the game, Severus had set out a cup of cocoa for the boy and a cup of tea for himself. The prospect of a midnight chess match enabled Harry to put aside his fears for a time, and the child actually smiled at the way the pieces scrambled across the board to take their places.

“Thanks Uncle Sev,” Harry said as he advanced his pawn to begin the game. “If we couldn’t be with Nanny or Uncle Remus, I’m glad we’re with you.”

“You’re welcome Harry,” Severus replied. “It is an honor to be third on your list of acceptable temporary guardians.” 

As they neared the end of the second game (Harry’s lack of sophisticated strategy made for short matches, a blessing considering the lateness of the hour) the darkness in the mirror finally brightened, and James’s tired face appeared.

“Sev? Are you up?” James asked.

“I am,” Severus replied, snatching the mirror in case he was required to prepare Harry for disaster. “Is Lily…”

“She’s fine. And it’s a girl.” 

Most of the tension Severus had been carrying all night dissolved at this. 

“My congratulations to you both. I expect Harry would like to hear about his new sister.”

He passed the mirror into Harry’s eager hands.

“It’s true?” Harry demanded. “Mum’s okay?”

“She’s just fine, Harry,” James replied. “A little too tired to talk though. But we’ll call you later when everyone’s awake.”

“It _is_ late,” Harry laughed. “Is the baby asleep?”

“No,” James admitted. “She’s taking after her big brother. She even has green eyes.”

Harry seemed pleased by this. “What’s her name?”

“Emily, after your Mum’s mother. Do you like it?”

The boy considered a moment. “It’s a nice name.”

“I’m glad you think so. Now go get some sleep. I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

James’s face faded away, but Harry kept the mirror clutched tightly in his hands. Now that he knew his family was safe, the child seemed heavy with exhaustion. He made a half-hearted show of protesting being sent back to bed, and was asleep almost the instant his head hit the pillow. Severus carefully eased the mirror out of the boy’s grip and set it on the mantel, next to the snoozing pictures. Prospero crept into the room, his great eyes shining in the darkness, and gazed imperiously at Severus. 

“It’s a girl,” Severus said, as though the cat had asked. “Perhaps she will not be tempted to pull your tail as her brothers used to do.”

Prospero hissed at this, and Severus chuckled in agreement. 

“You’re probably right,” he said. “She is a Potter, isn’t she?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far into my fluffy little tale. I am currently focusing on my main WIP, [libera nos a malo](https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/22596220/chapters/54000769). I expect to be back to updating this story in March or April of 2021. Thank you for sticking with me and stay safe out there <3
> 
> Kudos to my husband for the punny restaurant name.


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